I like to think that I’m immune to the trivial human behavior: tears, love, or getting hyped over the celebration of a new year. Most of the time, I force my mind to wander when I’m faced with such predicaments. “Why do I have to think like this?” I ask. “Nothing good came out of this the last time?” I remind myself. “Where is the conspiracy here?” I try to analyze.
I desperately wanted this year to be different from the previous; hence, I desperately wanted to celebrate this New Year’s Eve in a different way. I cleaned the entire apartment (toilets and everything), helped my mom in the kitchen, and called (or texted) my friends and family members to wish them a happy new year – instead of casually posting a greeting on Facebook. I ignored the urge to go over my closet and throw half of the clothes I thought I would never wear again; I, also, ignored all the invites to dinner or drinks. I planned it to be a quiet night at home.
I sat at the dinner table and stayed with my mother till the last hours of the night. On previous New Year’s Eves I would watch TV by myself when I’m done with dinner, and stay up till dawn. This time, however, I decided to keep my family company and go to bed at a reasonable time. I figured I’d go to bed when my mom does; however, she was quite the night owl that evening – she was still watching TV when I went to bed at 4:30 a.m.
“No New Year Resolutions this time,” I thought as I fluffed my pillow. “This day is like any other day of the year. Tomorrow, I will continue doing whatever it is I was doing.”
The next day, however, I couldn’t do anything. I battled with opening my eyes at 11:00 a.m., and for the rest of the day I was nauseated from drowsiness and the gluttony of the previous night. The day after, I was just as disoriented. I had a scheduled trip to get some papers from the same professor who forgot them at home the day before the holiday. This time he told me to wait till Tuesday, it seemed like he had forgotten all about me, again. Something good came out of the delay, however; an unfortunate bombing occurred in Beirut. Had I been there, I would’ve been caught up in the frenzy – my university campus was near the area attacked.
I went back home that day, after circling the mall. I bought some books online and started to read. I opened my progress sheet (an excel sheet I prepared, in which I write the word count progress of the novel I’m working on): 0 words in the last three days. I took out my iPad, switched the Bluetooth on, switched on the iPad-attached keyboard, and starting writing in my journal, which I hadn’t done for the past three weeks. I summed up the few events that occurred during my time away from writing, then did the exact thing I said I wouldn’t do: write my New Year’s Resolutions.
However simple, they were still resolutions. And however simple the act of writing them seemed, it was incremental for me (as a human) to yearn for such trivial act, hoping it would give me the kick I needed to start my year on the right foot. I guess I am not immune to this stuff, after all.